


Iron

by dammit_solas



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Death, Loss, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dammit_solas/pseuds/dammit_solas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A cold fury flares in his heart, turning it to stone, slowly spreading outwards until he feels filled with it, every part of his body pulsing with his anger."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iron

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely inspired by [Iron by Woodkid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSkb0kDacjs).  
> Also on [Tumblr](http://dammit--solas.tumblr.com/post/131712686484/iron).

He walks the hallway with steady steps. Around him, the bodies of his opponents, frozen in stone, stand in formation; a grotesque honor guard guiding him to the doors standing tall ahead of him. With a thought, he blasts them open, and the creak of hinges echoes around the quiet hall.

His gaze fixes on the ritual table set at the center of the cavernous room, and he keeps it there as he approaches. From the corner of his eye he can see hooded figures standing tall, their staffs held rigidly at their sides as they watch his progression. He feels the casting of a barrier behind him; someone has sealed the doorway with magic. He keeps his features schooled as he comes to a halt by the table.

She has been stripped naked, her wrists and ankles chained. His eyes roam her figure, taking in every horror inflicted upon her. Angry gashes mar her skin, chunks of flesh missing from her legs and arms. A dagger protrudes from the center of her abdomen, its golden hilt glittering in the dim light.

The worst of it is her face. Someone has taken a knife to it, carving patterns into her skin in a mockery of the Dalish vallaslin. Tears have cleared tracks in the blood matted on her cheeks, and her lifeless eyes are wide with fear.

A cold fury flares in his heart, turning it to stone, slowly spreading outwards until he feels filled with it, every part of his body pulsing with his anger. He lifts his gaze to the man standing by the head of the table.

The magister is smirking, his arms held wide open in a challenging posture. The front of his robes is covered in blood - _her_ blood - the fabric soaked through with it.

His eyes flare blue, and screams of agony replace the oppressive silence. All around him, men and women are set aflame, the fire burning hot as it slowly turns them to ash. He watches the magister's expression change; his smile falls, eyes open wide, fear replacing his foolish bravado.

The man tries to run, but he freezes him in place. In measured steps, he circles the table, hands held tight behind his back as he approaches; a wolf closing in on his prey. He looks the man in the eye coldly, his expression never shifting. Pupils blown wide, the magister stares back, his gaze flitting over his face in panic.

He waits until the others have died. When every last one of them is nothing more than dust upon the floor, he blinks, and the magister falls to his knees, high-pitched screams tearing from his throat as he is rent apart from the inside out.

He turns back to the ritual table, bending down, sliding his arms underneath her cold body. Gently, he picks her up and cradles her against his chest.

A single tear slips down his cheek as he bends his head to press his lips against her bloodied mouth.

"Ir abelas, vhenan."


End file.
